Demons
by Depp's-Still-Doll
Summary: Johanna waits in Mr. Todd's shop for Anthony to return. Though she is excited to elope with him and finally be free, she cannot shake the ghosts of her past. WARNING: The Judge is a nasty, despicable person, so... Trigger Warning lol Just a One-Shot


_A/N: During my 2013 Spring Break, I got the amazing opportunity to visit Jolly Old London! While I was there, I was flooded with inspiration, and I listened to the Sweeney Todd move and musical soundtracks on the long plane rides. (Back then, I had every word memorized lol I was only a bit obsessed with that bloody barber XD) This is one of the many pieces I came up with during my hop across the pond. The rest will be released shortly on FictionPress, under the name BrokenXWing since it's mostly original poems and stuff. Sorry I couldn't get this out sooner, but shortly after my trip, I misplaced all the notebooks with my ideas. I'm glad I found it again, so those of you who have waited patiently these six long years for new Sweeney Todd installments, here you go, poppet! Thank you and enjoy!_

"Mr. Todd!" Anthony called out as he burst through the barber shoppe door, dragging Johanna who was dressed in sailors clothes. He looked around for the dear friend she had heard so much about, but all that welcomed them was a high pitched bell attached to the door. "You wait here," he instructed. "I'll return with the coach in less than half an hour." Her blue eyes grew wide with fear, but he comforted her with a smile. "Don't worry. No one will recognize you. You're safe."

"Safe..." She tested the word as if it was foreign to her, her voice trembling. "So we run away and then have all our dreams come true?"

"I hope so."

"I've never had dreams," she admitted to him, this man she loved, who risked everything to save her. "Only nightmares."

"Johanna," he said, taking hold of her arms. She flinched. "When we're free of this place, all the ghosts will go away."

"No, Anthony, they never go away," she insisted, the uncertainty gaining truth in her fear. She felt the sting of tears, but stopped them from falling. Anthony's face was too sweet, his bright blue eyes too hopeful. She couldn't bear to break his heart by crying now that they were free, even if she barely knew him. The wave of relief knowing she would never again have to see the Judge strengthened the wave of tears, and she fought even harder against it.

"I'll be right back to you," he promised, ignoring her protests and glassy eyes. "Half an hour and we'll be free." He raced out the door and down the steps with boundless enthusiasm.

Why, then, did Johanna feel such dread?

* * *

When she was very little, Judge Turpin allowed her to play in the garden and accompany him on trips to the market. She received everything her tiny heart desired and more. Often, he would buy her the finest dresses in pale blues, soft pinks, sunshine yellows and powdery whites. He would have her model them, to which she would happily oblige. He would play with the fabric first, admiring the quality. But then his hands would roam...

First, they slipped around her waist to check how tight her corset was. The across her shoulders, admiring the neckline. Sometimes, they would wander up her skirts to make sure the fabric settled correctly. She would simply ignore it if his hands went a little...off-course.

Judge Turpin would lean back with a satisfied smirk. "Isn't she absolutely beautiful, Beadle Bamford?"

His right hand man always sat beside him, his legs crossed and gnarled hands perched on his cane. His lips would curl into a grotesque smile. "Yes, very."

By the time she began to blossom into a woman, the Judge could no longer bear to touch her, though Johanna knew not why. When he would brush her skin, his face would contort in anguish. It broke her heart. She was afraid it was something she had done that touching her caused him pain. That is precisely why she wouldn't even object when he would suddenly snap at her, "Go to your room."

She would silently obey, falling at the foot of her bed in prayer for him. She would sob onto her folded hands, begging God to unburden him. She would hear cracks of leather and cries of pain when he would seclude himself in his room, punishing himself and speaking Latin. _Mea maxima culpa._ All my fault. Johanna wept for her father figure, pleading to God to forgive him for whatever sins he had committed that he was so racked with guilt.

Eventually, Johanna was only allowed to leave her room for meals and Church on Sundays. At Church, Judge Turpin insisted she wear a white veil, which made her feel like a young bride. The Judge took care to keep her close.

Despite being reclusive, Johanna always kept herself occupied. Practicing calligraphy, embroidery, and especially reading. One day, shortly before her fourteenth birthday, she had realized she had read every single book in her personal library, which the Judge typically kept generously stocked. She had had a sudden craving for literature, devouring the lot. Since the Judge had been called into court that afternoon, and she had been feeling cramped in her room as of late, she had an hour or two to herself, so she decided to venture downstairs to peruse Judge Turpin's library.

She was bubbling with excitement that she had temporary freedom about the large mansion. She was eager to read his many books on religion and the law so she would better understand his occupation. At random, she reached for a rich red book and opened it.

Johanna was shocked at what she saw and dropped the book with a loud thud, which echoed throughout the cavernous room. She looked about, afraid of being caught, even though she knew she was alone. She brought her attention back to the publication on the floor and picked it up as if it carried the plague.

Surely she had been mistaken. It was a trick of the dim lighting. Her nerves and constricting corset had caused her to hallucinate, she reasoned. She flipped through the pages, which were covered not with words, but with illustrations of women. Naked women. So many women, but also some men, all without any sort of garment. Completely bare, their bodies were twisted into unnatural shapes, tangling their limbs with each other.

No. Judge Turpin would never own such filth. She replaced the book on the shelf and looked for something else. She noticed a primitive journal, shabbily constructed by hand, and she gingerly took it. The title on the front was labeled in a strange language. She smiled a moment, admiring the Judge for being so well traveled and knowledgeable.

However, when she opened it, her stomach lurched. Medical diagrams showed the more private of areas, in great detail and labeled in the village's language. Young children with dark skin were pictured being mutilated in the most horrendous of ways. She clapped it closed and replaced it.

Her heart was racing; her head was spinning. Bile rose into her mouth, and she winced from the sour bitterness of it. She forced herself to swallow and took a deep breath. She scanned the shelves for something respectable, refusing to believe that the generous, righteous man who raised her would own such a disgusting collection. She found a big book bound in black. It _must_ be a bible!

Johanna stood on her toes and brought it down, observing the cover. It was completely blank, no title, no cross. She cautiously flipped to the first page.

Knot tying. Why on earth would the Judge own a book on how to tie knots? It sounded like a book more suited to a sailor than a holy man. Regardless, she plopped into a plush red chair with a sigh of relief, settling in to understand one of the Judge's more eccentric hobbies of which she knew not.

When Johanna happened upon an illustration with more than just rope, she screamed. It was not a hanged man on a noose, though she would have preferred if it was. It would have been more logical considering the law part of her guardian's profession.

No, it was another naked woman. She was tied up, the coarse rope digging into her arms and legs and even wrapped around each of her breasts. She was gagged, and her face was streaked with tears. What kind of heinous torture was this?

She turned page after page, the instructions and illustrations playing out like a story. A man appeared, viciously whipping the poor, defenseless woman. Johanna could hear her screams as he struck her with a cat-o-nine-tails in her most sensitive parts. He would untie and retie her into different positions, beating her further. He undressed, pushed her limp body against the wall and violated her. Johanna threw the book and cried.

She suddenly understood that every gift, every touch, every punishment was because the Judge had the devil in his heart. She tearfully tore through each book, hoping in vain that the next volume would be decent, that this was all just a dream.

Naked women...everywhere. Young women, old women, women from the East and the West, how to pleasure them, control them, hurt them. She replaced each book with trembling hands. She felt again every time the Judge had touched her, each brush of his hands on her shoulders, plunging them into her skirts. It made her want to peel off her own skin just to be rid of the lingering sensation.

When Johanna returned to her room, she did it no longer for his sake, but for hers. Many a night had she felt as though she was being watched, often while she changed, with nary a soul passing by her window. Now, she wondered if it was more than an unwarranted case of paranoia.

Judge Turpin noticed her restrained demeanor when he returned and asked if anything was the matter. Johanna assured him all was well. Still, he tried to regain her favor by buying her a new dress, a dozen new books, and a lark to keep her company. She tried to sing to it, an old melody from deep in her memory bank. "Demons will charm you with a smile for a while..." Her mother's lullaby came rushing back to her, and she held back tears. She graciously accepted his gifts, though they did nothing to ease her spirits. She decided to keep her trip to his library her one and only secret.

It ate at her, kept her up at night, both the nature of the Judge's library and her lying. She had never kept anything from the man who raised her, as it was a sin. However, she could not forget her afternoon with his books. From that point on, she couldn't look him in the eye without her skin crawling.

She vowed that one day she would escape her demons. Days turned into weeks, which turned into months, and into years. Just when she thought she would finally succumb to the musky darkness, she found two blue beacons in the dark. The sailor boy's eyes. They met, and she felt such an intense pull toward him. He was young, hopeful, and most importantly...free. She longed to be like him, to escape this damask mansion and see the world. When he seemed to be just as enamored with her, it seemed as though fate was on her side.

* * *

Presently, she stood in the barber shoppe, waiting for her sailor boy to return so they could elope. The Grace of God had been with her so far, but she still felt the warmth of Anthony's touch on her arms. His touch was strong and comforting, much unlike the Judge's slithering fingers leaving a trail of shivers down her back. Though Anthony had meant to assure her, she wasn't sure how much of his touch she would be able to handle. The Judge and the Beadle had placed their greasy paws on her so many times, that it made her skin crawl even now that she was far away from them and that dreadful house.

Before her mind could wander too far, she occupied herself by inspecting the tools on the barber's vanity. Various pomades, bottles, brushes, some dental tools, all very ordinary.

Then she noticed the box of silver razors. They were stunningly beautiful, distantly illuminated by the gas lamp outside the door. She picked one up and admired the fine blade. She briefly considered using it to shed her old skin... Or perhaps she could cut out the traumatic memories from her mind like cutting a bruise off of an apple.

Johanna was pulled from her thoughts by someone climbing the stairs, calling for Beadle Bamford in a sing-song voice.

"She must have seen Anthony bring me here!" Johanna thought.

Panicked, she dropped the razor back into the case and scanned the room. There was a large chest beside the door. She only had a few seconds, and she prayed it wasn't full of belongings. She lifted the lid, and as luck would have it, it was empty. She crawled inside the trunk just as the door opened.

Johanna tried to keep her breathing as quiet as possible as a woman entered the shoppe. She wondered what sort of chest she was in, for it smelled oddly metallic and musty in a most unsettling way.

A man's gruff voice appeared without warning. "What are you doing here?" It was most certainly _not_ the Beadle. Perhaps it was Anthony's barber friend, Mr. Todd? Either way, Johanna chose to remain concealed.

The woman blathered on about an evil from below, then trailed off. "Hey, don't I know you, mista?" She did not receive a reply.

A man outside called to Mr. Todd, and Johanna recognized that voice immediately. She pulled her legs closer in the dark chest, twisting her eyes shut and holding her breath. She could not be found. She heard a clamor, then the door to the shoppe swung open. The cheery bell that welcomed him seemed eerily out of place.

"Where is she?"

The man who entered was the Judge, beyond a shadow of a doubt, and Johanna knew in her gut that he was referring to her. Her jaw dropped. Had Anthony's so-called friend double-crossed them?

"Below, Your Honor," Todd lied, "with my neighbor, Mrs. Lovett." Perhaps he _was_ on their side, but why would Todd lie to the Judge if he hadn't actually seen her? He added, "Thank heavens, the sailor did not molest her. Thank heavens, too, she has seen the error of her ways."

"She has?" The hope in Judge Turpin's voice was too much to bear.

"Oh, yes. Your lesson was well-learned. She speaks only of you...longing for forgiveness."

It was all Johanna could do to not vomit and give away her position. Why on earth would Mr. Todd say such things on her behalf?

"Then she shall have it. She'll be here soon, you say?" Turpin asked eagerly, making the hidden Johanna increasingly uncomfortable.

"Yes."

"Excellent, my friend!"

"How about a shave?" Todd asked at random. Johanna noticed his voice quivered on the final word. What could possibly be going on out there? "Sit, sir, sit."

The barber kept the Judge busy for a moment, and the Judge revealed to him his intentions to wed his beautiful young ward.

Johanna covered her ears within the trunk, blocking out the men singing about pretty women. She knew exactly what the Judge wanted to do to her, and she would do everything in her power to circumvent his plan. He was practically shouting with ecstasy in the middle of the barber shoppe. She prayed to God to make it stop.

"...the face of a prisoner at the docks...is not particularly memorable."

"Benjamin Barker," Turpin muttered with rage.

Barker... The name struck a chord with Johanna, as if summoning a memory that has been long lost and tucked away. A name from early childhood, perhaps from even before the Judge took her in.

There was a ruckus, followed by silence. What could have happened? She carefully lifted the lid and peeked out.

Judge Turpin was nowhere to be seen, but she was taken aback by the amount of blood splattered on the floor, the window and the barber himself, who was singing reverently to the razor he held in front of him. As she stared at the silver and crimson blade, it caught the barber's chocolate colored eye, and he turned.

Johanna tried to duck back inside, but it was too late. He had seen her. The barber thrust open the lid, grabbed her by her borrowed sailor's jacket and shoved her into his chair. "Come for a shave, have you, lad?"

"N-no, I -" She stammered in her normal, high pitched voice, momentarily forgetting her disguise. Either way, there wasn't a single hair on her chin to warrant a shave.

Mr. Todd scared her. His hair was dark and wild and wet with blood. The bright scarlet liquid on his face stood out against his pale, ghostly complexion. As grateful as she was that the Judge was forever out of her life, never again to touch her, but the demonic glint in his dark eyes told her he wouldn't hesitate to kill her, too.

A piercing scream came from below. The barber hesitated, debating which one to take care of first. He turned back to Johanna sizing up her scrawny body and terrified eyes, knowing he was short on time. "Forget my face," he ordered ominously.

Johanna doubted that she could obey, but in his odd moment of mercy, she flew out the door in one motion. The bell tinkled a cheerful goodbye as she slid down the stairs, the barber descending within to address the damsel in distress.

Johanna's feet slapped against the cobblestone street, echoing in the night. Her lungs burned from inhaling the rancid smoke emanating from the bakehouse below, as she sprinted far away from the demonic barber. Though she tried to forget, she was haunted by Todd's murderous face, whether her eyes were open or closed.


End file.
